


A Step to the Right

by KINGBeerZ



Series: Of Warped Time [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Kinda, Magic, Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Minor Violence, Specifically related to Fodlan history and those involved, Spoilers, Time Travel, it's Sothis so it counts but not at the same time, wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGBeerZ/pseuds/KINGBeerZ
Summary: The power of the Progenitor God is not an easy thing to control, it is a simple enough matter for things to go awry as Byleth makes his escape from the darkness.





	1. The Misstep

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh, here's a random thing I wrote. Yes, the name is a reference to The Time Warp.

“Both sides of time are revealed to you… and you alone. You know I am the beginning, what shall you do.”

It felt like he was overflowing, energy seeping and bursting from every pore, forcing his breath as it shoved the air from his lungs. It felt empty, her voice no longer ringing in his ear chiding and condescending. It felt right, like something clicked into place in his chest, generating warmth and comfort and power. It felt wrong, because a human shouldn’t feel such power. 

Byleth tried to shake off everything and focus on escaping the darkness. His will slipped into the Sword of the Creator seamlessly, as if it were sculpted from his own flesh, he thought he could almost hear a morbid chuckle at the thought, but he must have been imagining things.

The sword glowed a vibrant scarlet, coming alive as never before and he thrust it into the darkness, slightly surprised when it actually caught hold. He focused on the feeling of when he channelled the divine pulse, the peculiar throb deep within his chest. As he dragged the Sword of the Creator down to tear through the darkness he focussed upon the memories of his students, they needed him, he wouldn’t let them face Solon alone. 

Claude’s wry smirk as he won an argument or a duel. Hilda’s groans of complaint as she was dragged to the training field. The way Ignatz poked out the tip of his tongue when focusing on a painting. The serenity on Marriane’s face as she clasped her hands in prayer, the boom of Raphael’s battle cries. The passion in Lorenz’s voice as he spoke of his plans for the alliance. The light in Leonie’s eyes as he shared a story of his Father (his breath hitched at the memory and he had to force himself to focus). Finding Lysithea in the morning asleep in the library surrounded by heavy piles of tomes. Flayn’s contented sigh when eating grilled fish- Flayn’s scream as the dark magic blast ripped into her in the battle… was she okay? He’d been so focused on Kronya he’d not bothered to check, guilt weighed heavy in his stomach and the divine pulse stuttered as his thoughts stalled on Flayn, his chest burned and he coughed as his sword finished its cut.

A crimson door, a bloody sunrise. He pushed his way through to escape the darkness.

The forest was quieter than he expected, he thought his students would be there to welcome him back. He could just barely pick out the sound of boots thumping through the turf somewhere off to the left. Byleth decided that he must have come out a short way from the battle and took off running towards the sound. 

As he ran he noticed that the forest seemed off somehow, the plants all seemed to be the same kind, yet they grew in different places, he could hear a trickly of water somewhere far off, but he couldn’t recall seeing a river anywhere near the battlefield before. 

He burst out of a cluster of trees and a knot of anxiety in his gut unravelled at the familiar sight of Flayn. She stood in a defensive pose, the caduceus staff held before her, as if to ward off the two men advancing on her position. A dark mage in similar garb to those Byleth had seen earlier and a cavalier were advancing on the girl. She took a step back, a flicker of fear crossed her face as she did so. 

Byleth needed no further invitation to act. 

Stone faced, he disjointed the Sword of the Creator, the whip sword’s links screeched as they unravelled and split the air, catching the mage off guard and drawing a gasp from him as it shredded through robes and flesh, cutting deep into his side.

“Begone, interloper!” the mage gave a pained shriek and his hands began to glow with a blackness that reminded Byleth uncomfortably of the void he’d just escaped from. 

As the mage finished his spell Byleth retaliated with one of his own, the light of his Nosferatu siphoned the last dregs of energy in the dark mage as the swarm of vicious conjured insects ripped into Byleth. He hissed in pain but the energy from Nosferatu helped ease the sting.

He looked up to Flayn, ready to help her against the cavalier he’d seen. Just in time to witness a radiant explosion consume the horse and rider. He staggered back at the shockwave released. He’d never seen Flayn cast a spell that powerful before.

Finishing her spell Flayn lowered her arms shakily, a sorrowful from formed on her lips, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. That was much more familiar to Byleth, Flayn always hated fighting, even moreso taking life, it’s why she normally only ever stuck to healing in a fight. She looked up, hurriedly locking eyes on Byleth, her eyes glistened a little and she clutched a hand to her chest, blinking away any tears before they could fully form. She closed the distance between them in a run, nearly tripping over her own feet. 

“I thought that we were the only survivors.” She gasped.

“Survivors?” If he had a heartbeat Byleth was sure it would have spiked, but the only sign of discomfort that showed was a slight furrowing of his brow (it’d still probably set off Hilda on a rant about how worried he was). “Flayn, where are Claude and the others?” He grasped her shoulders. 

“Flayn? Claude? I am afraid I do not understand. Did the mage’s spell addle you somehow?” She asked stepping back from him, dislodging his grip.

“Flayn. This isn’t a time for jokes, we can’t leave them to fight alone.” He took a step back towards Flayn when a blast of wind buffeted him, knocking him off his feet. 

He grunted as he hit the ground, the sting of the cuts from the mage’s spell flared up as he fell. His head thumped against the ground sending stars through his vision.

“Father!”

“Stay back Cethleann, we do not know this man’s purpose.” 

Byleth struggled to his knees, feeling the cool metal tip of a spear tilt his chin up. Highlighted against the fading sun sat Seteth upon his wyvern. He thought that Seteth was past this sort of animosity and distrust but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

“Seteth, the Golden Deer need need help, they’re somewhere in here fighting. I need to-“

“Golden Deer? What is this nonsense? There are no deer in these woods.” Seteth interrupted, glaring down the point of his lance at Byleth.

“Please, Father, I believe he may be from Xanado, there was a mage who hit him with a spell, it may have confused him.” Flayn begged. Father… she never called Seteth Father, even after they’d told Byleth the truth they were careful to keep the nature of their relationship under wraps. 

Byleth felt lightheaded as a wave of dizziness came over him, strangely thankful that he was on the ground already. Why did he feel so faint? Was it the attack from the mage? Hitting his head? He shook himself to try and throw off the creeping sensation of weariness. 

“Seteth, there’s not time for this game you’re playing.” He grabbed the shaft of Seteth’s lance and moved it away from himself, swaying awkwardly to his feet. 

He staggered forward plodding one foot in front of the other. Bone deep weariness weighed him down, it was like being at the end of a day long march through the mountains. Exhaustion pulsed through him once more. A day long march through the mountains on an empty stomach, he corrected himself.

“Where are you? Hold! I said stop!” Seteth blustered as Byleth staggered away from the pair.

“They need me, I have to get back to them.” Byleth Murmured, one foot at a time, just one foot at a time, Flayn was there so the rest of the class had to be nearby. 

He grunted as his legs fell out from under him, sending him sprawling face first onto the grass.

“Oh my!” Flayn exclaimed from somewhere behind him, he could pick out the sound of running footsteps approaching him. Byleth tried to shove his hands under himself to push to his feet again, but he just felt so heavy, and the ground was deceptively soft. Sleep was calling him, but some arguing voices were keeping him awake.

“Father, you hurt him!” 

“He was trying to grab you.”

“He helped to fight off some of Nemesis’ men.”

Nemesis… that sounded familiar, where had he heard that name before?

“Cethleann, you are too trusting, he was trying to grab you!”

“He was confused about something, he mistook me for a friend of his.”

“A likely story, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to make unsavoury advances towards you.”

“Father! Why do you always leap to such conclusions? I believe he may be another survivor of Xanado, something about him feels familiar.” 

The other voice stopped speaking and Byleth was grateful for the silence, although he could feel eyes roaming over him it wasn’t enough to stop him from drifting off now that the shouting had stopped.

Maybe the Golden Deer would find him before he awoke.


	2. The Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cethleann and Cichol return to camp with the stranger, whilst Cethleann tends to him Cichol and his brothers discuss the mystery of who and what he might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... apparently people DO want me to continue this, seriously the amount of positive feedback I got on chapter 1 has eclipsed anything I have ever written before, so thanks for that. I don't want this story to be too long and drawn out and I now have a general plan of action for it, so I hope y'all enjoy.

Cichol landed precisely in their camp, his Wyvern’s wings only stirring up a few stray leaves, he always took a quiet pride in his skill handling Shiharam. Of course, he wouldn’t boast of it aloud, it would be impudent and set a bad example for Cethleann. 

Cethleann herself hopped off of Shiharam somewhat indignantly.  
“Father, could you please take him into the cabin. I need to properly examine him.” She directed, her request coming off far more like a demand.

“Very well Cethleann. I will do so, but I will also take precautions.” Cichol replied sharply. 

The young man from earlier had not woken since he passed out on the forest floor, raving about deer for some reason. Cichol easily enough swung him over one shoulder, and with his other hand fished a length of sturdy rope from his saddlebag. It was normally used for tethering Shiharam but in this situation he found it easier to trust his wyvern than the stranger. Even if Cichol had already disarmed him of… _that_.

“Father, is that truly necessary?” Cethleann complained, looking over the rope he held.

“Undoubtedly so. You yourself said he was likely confused. Even if his intents are not impure as I suspect, he may still pose a threat to you or himself in an addled state.” He answered as they made their way to the run down cabin the five had temporarily set up camp by.

“Okay then Father.” Cethleann sighed. Cichol felt a prick of guilt, his daughter so much wanted to see the good in everyone in the world. Yet he couldn’t stand to see her hurt for her faith, he never wished to feel that sort of pain again. 

So even as singularly peculiar as the young man was, precautions had to be taken. As they walked towards the cabin the pair passed by Indech and Macuil sat on some tree stumps around an empty firepit. Both had dressed down to a degree after battle, Macuil’s sword lay beside him, and Indech was in the process of removing his ornate armour, he removed his helmet revealing his closely shaved green hair.

Macuil’s eyes drifted over the pair, and when they landed on the young man his nostrils flared in alarm, he opened his mouth to speak, but Cichol cut him off with a sharp shake of his head, glancing to where Cethleann huffily walked ahead of him, head held high. Thankfully for once his brother held his peace.

The cabin itself had been abandoned years ago, but it provided fair shelter from the elements still, even half overgrown as it was. Most of the furniture within the single roomed building had largely mouldered away, but a single musty bed remained, normally they allowed Cethleann to use it and laid down bedrolls instead. 

Cichol deposited the young man down upon the bed, he didn’t react at all, his face always remained oddly flat , not quite the peacefulness of sleep that Cichol would have expected, it was more of an absence, frankly it was a little unnerving. 

He quickly restrained the man’s hands, tying them tightly above his head, attached to the bedframe. Although he did loosen them slightly when Cethleann pointed out the danger of restricting blood flow overmuch. He prayed it would not be a fatal mistake. 

He stood stiffly beside Cethleann for a few minutes whilst she began her examination, long enough to see the numerous small cuts and bruises dotting over the man’s body, as well as a strange cross shaped scar on his chest.

“Father, please. I do not need you watching over me, I am perfectly capable of performing my healing duties.” Cethleann commented, as she pulled back one of the man’s eyelids, examining the vivid green of his iris.

“I was only.” He took a deep breath. “I am sorry Cethleann, you know I worry. I shall go speak with your uncles.” He turned and left the cabin.

“I know. Thank you, Father.” Cethleann whispered just before Cichol left the room, the tension in his shoulders loosened just a little.

He barely had a moment to breathe before Macuil was before him Robes fluttering as he stormed up to his brother, brows furrowed and face stormy.

“Cichol, who was that?” he questioned harshly, as if it was Cichol’s fault that the stranger existed. 

Cichol huffed with annoyance, and led his older brother back towards where Indech still sat, patient and wary as he glued feathers to the shaft of an arrow.

Cichol sat down on a stump, running a hand through his hair.

“He supposedly helped Cethleann fight off some of Nemesis’ men, a scouting party, most like. Leastwise that is what she claims. All I know was that I saw him grabbing at her and ranting about Golden Deer.” Cichol explained, Macuil looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Indeed, how convenient for him, showing up just in time to save Cethleann from assailants.” He scoffed, then the condescension fled from his eyes, replaced by a spark of wary hope. “Although… did you smell it Brother? He smelled like _her_.”

Cichol had noticed, Cethleann likely hadn’t, she was young and may not have recognized the goddess as the rest of them did, even so, she did claim the young man felt familiar, perhaps on some level she did recall her. Of course Cichol did recognize the likely cause of the scent. He reached into the folds of his tunic and slowly drew forth a carefully wrapped bundle, laying it upon his lap. 

His brothers both stared at the bundle as he slowly unwrapped it, Macuil gasped and even Indech grunted in alarm, spilling some of his glue as Cichol revealed the Sword of the Creator.

“Impossible.” Macuil spat, rushing over to Cichol and snatching the weapon from him, peering at it closely, he held it up in the moonlight, the creamy white of the sword seemed to glow. “How could this be here? Nemesis holds the blade, he desecrated her corpse to craft it, he wouldn’t easily let it go.” Macuil muttered. 

“You can see why I am wary of this man.” Cichol hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should continue. It may have been a trick of the eye, but he could almost swear he saw the sword glow red in the stranger’s hands.

“Where is the crest stone?” Indech cut in, he too seemed enraptured by the blade, eyes slowly roaming over it from pommel to tip.

“The stone… I never saw one.” Cichol breathed. Yet that should be impossible, he swore he’d heard that the disgusting weapons of those so called ‘Elites’ that Nemesis had gathered wouldn’t work properly without a crest stone. The heart of one of their brethren.

“Perhaps Nemesis still holds it.” Macuil suggested, running his hand over the hole where the stone should be. 

“Then how in blazes did that boy get a hold of the sword?” Indech spoke up.

“I have one possible theory.” Cichol suggested hesitantly, both his brothers turned a critical gaze onto him, he knew they’d shoot down any suggestion they thought even slightly foolish with impunity. Such was the fate of a younger brother. “I believe he may be a son of Nemesis.” Cichol suggested, a silence blanketed the three at the implications. 

“And why would you think something like that?” Macuil prompted, a raised brow letting Cichol know just how little he thought of his idea.

“When he had the sword in hand, it glowed. You both know as well as I do what means.” 

Indech looked pained as Cichol spoke. He could well understand why, if the young man was Nemesis’ son then Cethleann was, in essence, tending to a corpse. He would not last long once Seiros returned. “Is there any other possible explanation?” Indech suggested hopefully.

“Well, Cethleann believes something different, but I fear she may be allowing the gratitude she holds for the young man to be clouding her judgement.” Cichol explained gloomily.

“She has proven insightful before, it’s best not to underestimate your daughter.” Indech advised.

“Yes but she also would catch fish with her bare hands and eat them raw if we left her to her own devices.” Macuil snarked, finally gently laying down the sword once more, placing it in Cichol’s lap where he wrapped it up once more.

“In this case I am not sure her judgement is so sound. She thinks he may be another survivor of Xanado.”

“Impossible, I don’t recognise him at all.” Macuil quickly dismissed, walking away from Cichol and plopping down onto his stump once more. “What is she even suggesting? That this young man is some long-lost brother to Seiros, and that’s why the sword resonates?” He spread his hands helplessly “If that is her only defence then I am afraid she will have to say goodbye to her friend quite soon.”

Cichol grimaced, Cethleann had been forced to experience far too many horrors for one so young, she was only a few centuries old, how could she be prepared for what war demands of a person? He could see how it tore her apart after each battle when she couldn’t save every injured soldier all by herself. Those in the empire had begun referring to their family as ‘Saints’ but he could not view himself or his brothers as being truly worthy of that title, Cethleann though was a different matter.

“Cichol, if he is Nemesis’ son as you suggest, then why would he give him only half a relic?” Indech interrupted his train of thought.

“I… I don’t know, we’d best wait until Seiros returns before we take any action. When can we expect her?” He asked Macuil.

“She is in council with the Imperial Generals down in the valley, I expect she’ll return some time near dawn.” 

“Dawn it is then, I suppose we’ll be finding our answers soon enough, one way or another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't Seteth unlock his door? he can't find the Cichol.


	3. The Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth awakens and thankfully Flayn is there to answer his questions, or maybe she isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, here's another chapter, it features my second favourite character in Three Houses. Sadly Manuela won't be able to make an appearance in this fic for obvious reasons, so I'll have to make do with my number 2, sadly she's tricky to write, so I hope I got her right.

Byleth groaned, he felt stiff and groggy all over, and it was a struggle to flick his eyes open. He was only able to force them open for a moment before they slammed shut once more. His whole body ached as if it had been overworked to the point of exhaustion. His wrists in particular were throbbing with a repetitive pain.

He pulled them down.. down? To examine them, but found that he couldn’t. Byleth’s eyes shot open and darted to where his hands were bound above his head attached to a bedframe. “What the?” He tried to twist his hands out of their bindings but found the knots to be unrelenting.

“Please, do not struggle overmuch, I understand this might be confusing but I need you to stay still.” That voice, Flayn! She was standing over him, a concerned look on her face, hands clasped before her, tightly enough that her knuckles paled.

“Flayn.” He breathed in relief “It’s good to see you uninjured, I was worried about you and everyone else, guess I shouldn’t have been. If you’re here I’m sure you all handled Solon fine without me.” It was a thought both satisfying and frustrating, pride swelled in his chest at the skill his students had gained, yet it stung to have his revenge stolen from his grasp. “I’m guessing this.” He jerked his hands “Is a joke on Claude’s part.” He’d make sure that Alois would supervise Claude’s detention for _that_. One bad joke deserves another.

But Flayn just stared at him, her head cocked and blinked slowly. “I am sorry, but I believe you may have me confused with someone else. I am Cethleann.” She placed her hand over her chest and bobbed her head in greeting. “My father, Cichol, was the one who tied you up. I am very sorry for his behaviour, he tends to be a bit overprotective.” 

Cichol? Cethleann? Like the saints? It was Byleth’s turn to stare at Flayn, what sort of joke was this? He might have been able to believe they were lookalikes he’d stumbled upon, but the mannerisms, the bearing, even the sense of style (archaic as it was) remained the same for the two. It seemed too much to be coincidence.

Flayn giggled lightly. “Did I do something funny?” Byleth asked neutrally. 

“Oh I am sorry, I just recalled the name you called my Father. Seteth. It was the name of a dog we had when I was a small child. He was so very put out by it.” She laughed a little harder, a snort slipping into her giggles as she covered her mouth with her hands. Eventually she calmed down enough to continue “I must offer you my thanks, I am not much one for battle, and you helped me to fend off some of Nemesis’ men.”

“Nemesis… named after the old King of Liberation?” Byleth questioned slowly.

“Yes, that is the title his followers give him.” Her face twisted disdainfully, such a look he’d not thought Flayn capable of. “It would be best not to call him such around Seiros.” She paused. “Though I do not know of any who were called Nemesis before him, it is quite an intimidating name.” 

Seiros. 

First Cichol and Cethleann, then Nemesis, and now Seiros. Byleth was no historian, in fact his Father had deliberately steered him away from any stories of the faith, Seiros and her saints. Yet Lady Rhea had been so interested in filling him in, whenever she told a story of Seiros and her companions she looked so expectant, hopeful for something more than the respectful nod of understanding Byleth would give her. Despite all that, this was starting to ring some uncomfortable bells, and he could almost feel something flicker deep in that empty space within himself.

“But Nemesis died, Fla-Cethleann.” The name felt clumsy on his tongue. “He died a thousand years ago.”

“Would that he had, but he is still at large. Where did you hear he was dead, for a thousand years no less? That is quite the tale.” Flayn inquired carefully.

“At Garreg Mach Monastery, where else?” She knew this, Flayn had been there during his whole time at the monastery, and even if she was calling herself something different, he recognized his student… at least he thought he did.

“I am afraid I don’t know of such a place. Perhaps it would be best if you were to explain a little more to me. Sir…?” She prompted.

“Byleth.” 

“Byleth then, why were you wandering through the woods where we met? And What is this Garreg Mach place?”

It occurred to Byleth that any explanation of how he got there wouldn’t make sense without including his connection to Sothis, so he decided to start at the beginning.

“Everything started when my father and I met some students from the Officer’s academy being pursued by Bandits…”

He told her his story, one that he’d not expected to ever have to relay to Flayn of all people. Or Cethleann. An uncomfortable idea was building in the back of Byleth’s mind as to why he’d not found any of his other students, but it seemed so impossible on every level. Yet he’d turned back time on many occasions before, is a further jump really so improbable?

“And when I emerged from the darkness I heard some people running, and that’s how I found you.” By the time he was finished Byleth’s hands felt like they were about to fall off at his wrists, although the rest of him felt far better due to Cethleann taking some time to administer to his wounds.

“This whole tale is quite hard to believe.” Cethleann confessed, she was now sitting on his bed with her back to him.

He gave a shallow nod. “Regardless, it’s true though.”

The door to the cabin slammed open.

“Rhea!”

“Lady Seiros!”

Her eyes were wide and manic as she scanned the interior of the room. Rhea’s was dressed far differently to how Byleth was used to seeing her. She still wore a flowing dress of white, but it seemed less restrictive, with some elements of light metal armour over the top and a travel stained cloak draped over her shoulders.

“Where… where is she?” Rhea muttered “I could swear that.” Her eyes landed on Byleth and sharpened dangerously. She stomped across the room, a deadly darkness descending over her features.

She grabbed him by his hair, tilting his head back harshly as she tugged. He hissed and arched his back as he was forced to meet her furious gaze. “You. What did you do to her!?” Rhea demanded.

“Rhea, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Byleth spat out, why was Rhea so furious with him?

“Who?… Who!? My Mother!” She slammed his head into the bed’s headrest setting his ears ringing. “I saw the sword Cichol took from you. So where is the rest of it? Where is she? What did you and Nemesis do with her?” She shook him hashly just making the ringing stronger as he tried to piece together who Rhea’s mother was, but was this Rhea? Cethleann called her Seiros and Seiros was the child of.

“Sothis.” He whispered, barely a breath past his lips, and the smoldering rage in Rhea’s eyes ignited into a wildfire.

“You do not get to speak her name.” Rhea hissed, pulling her fist back to punch Byleth.

“Seiros please, stop!” Cethleann cried. Byleth’s hazy gaze travelled to the young woman and he saw that her eyes were misting as she clutched her hands to her chest.

“Cethleann, you do not need to be here. I will deal with this.” She pulled on Byleth’s hair and he grunted.

“No. Seiros I believe this is a misunderstanding, and if you do what I fear you wish to then you may never forgive yourself.” She pleaded.

“And why would I regret killing a thief and murderer?” Rhea shot back icily.

“Because I believe that he _is_ Sothis.” Cethleann shouted, before clapping her hands over her mouth, eyes bulging at her outburst.

“What…?” Rhea breathed, then took a moment to look Byleth over, strangely she sniffed the air a few times as well. Her eyes were drawn to the scar on his chest, one he’d had as long as he could remember. She tentatively rested her hand against it, as if afraid it might burn her. When she did her face crumbled, and she brought a hand to her neck as if she were struggling to breathe. “Mother.”

“Come Seiros.” Cethleann tugged at her sleeve to pull her outside. “I shall explain more of what he told me, it is quite the story.” Rhea somewhat reluctantly tore her gaze from Byleth, tilting her head in agreement towards Cethleann. 

Byleth was left behind feeling thoroughly discomforted by Seiros’ actions and regretting that he’d not asked anyone to undo his binds. He got back to trying to wriggle his hands free in the meantime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, my second favourite is Rhea/Seiros, she's great. Hey thanks for reading and all the kudos, seriously this work is receiving so much attention and I cannot even begin to describe how much that means to me. Writing gen often means people aren't as interested, but it's great to see you all here. Thank you all so much for reading, each and every one of you is an awesome person who deserves to have a great day!


	4. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seiros knows what she felt, even if she cannot truly say what it means. A decision is made about what to do with Byleth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bursts into the room with 'Magilou the Great Sorceress' blaring at full volume* OHOHOHOHOHO! bet you didn't expect to see me here, well let me tell everyone, today marks another successful year of being alive for me. So as a birthday gift from me to you all, I decided to release this chapter a little early.

Seiros hesitantly ran her fingers over the Sword of the Creator for the twentieth time in as many minutes. She is _here_, after so long Seiros could hold her Mother once more. Yet it was not the same, a warm embrace and a gentle song was as far from an unyieldingly cold hilt as could be, but just for a little while she could pretend.

Her heart felt like it was being torn in two between ecstasy and longing, as what she had was just not enough, but then she supposed it would never be enough. Perhaps she would find some peace once Nemesis was finally dealt with, but until then, sword or no, fury still burned within her, hot as her breath, and fearsome as her roar.

Cethleann was recounting the story that the stranger had shared to her, it was, quite simply, ubelievable. But… Seiros had felt it, she had felt _her_. Somehow in some way, Sothis had entered this Byleth person, and that caused a faint hope to rise in Rhea’s breast, maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to see her again one day. 

“Lady Seiros, what say you to this?” Cichol prompted her, a gentle hand on her shoulder grabbing her attention. 

“I believe Cethleann speaks the truth.” She stated plainly. Glacing up only briefly from where she held the sword to notice the shock and confusion on Macuil’s face.

“You cannot be serious, Lady Seiros. Some stranger appears in the woods, claims that Nemesis was defeated by the five of us a thousand years ago _and_ that he has received some nebulous power from the goddess herself, and you think he is not lying at all.” Macuil spat, trust never came easy to the few remaining Nabateans, save Cethleann. Macuil had always struggled with it, and the crimes of humanity had only made his distrust grow.

“I am afraid I must agree with my brother, his claims are outlandish and more likely the result of an overactive imagination than anything else.” Cichol added.

“When I touched him, however briefly, I felt Mother’s presence, as I have not done in years, as I feared I never would again.” Seiros whispered, she then locked her gaze, certain and unwavering with Macuil’s own green eyes. “Somehow that young man harbours mother’s spirit, if not more. I am certain of it.”

“Lady Seiros, is such a thing possible?” Cichol asked, stroking his short beard.

“It must be, I know that I was not mistaken. It could also explain why the young man claimed that nemesis was defeated a thousand years ago. For Mother time was not a one-way stream, she could bend or halt its flow, or at times, travel against it.” Seiros explained, she had not often elaborated upon the abilities possessed by the goddess, for they were not her secrets to share. The notion that such powers made Byleth’s story plausible caused even Macuil to fall silent. 

“If that is so, and his story is true then it is our duty to protect him.” Cethleann said, clasping her hands together. 

“Agreed.” Seiros cut off Macuil’s protests, holding up her palm towards him. “But if you are not satisfied I shall allow you to gauge his intent. Cichol, bring him forth, if you would.” She commanded.

“As you wish.” He said slowly, a frustrated crumple to his brow, he was likely no happier about this than his brother was. 

Cichol walked into the shack and emerged a minute later pulling Byleth behind him. The young man was staring down blankly at the binds his wrists were still held in.

“Cichol, if you would, untie him.” Seiros requested. Byleth blinked and looked up at her, his lips twitched slightly. 

He certainly looked like one of the Children of the Goddess, with the emerald green of his eyes and the soft minty colour of his hair becoming clear in the crackling light of the fire they’d relit. The curve of his ears gave him away as human, missing the clean point of those on the Nabateans.

“Lady Seiros.” Cichol addressed her “Are you sure that’s wise?” he cautioned, eyeing the young man warily. His face was oddly blank, Seiros assumed that most would be actively panicked in his place yet he seemed at most mildly perturbed.

“I am certain Cichol. He is disarmed and we are all prepared.” She gestured to the other Nabateans who had re-armed themselves, although Indech had his helmet tucked under his arm.

Reluctantly Cichol untied Byleth’s binds with nimble hands, the young man sighed and hissed as the blood flow started to return to his extremities, clenching and unclenching his hands where he let them hang beside himself. 

“Cethleann shared your story with us.” Seiros explained, slowly walking towards Byleth, picking over his face for any hint of deception. It remained frustratingly neutral. “For some of us it is difficult to believe.”

“An understatement there.” Macuil muttered, Indech quickly shushed him. 

“You say that you were granted power by the Goddess Sothis, claim that you took her into your very being.” Byleth nodded in response. “How do you believe this is possible?”

“I… I believe that she has always been with me, I started seeing Sothis in dreams more recently, then I heard her when I was awake.” He explained, slowly turning his head to take in each of the five who stood before him. “Before she joined with me she said are wills are now as one. She’s a part of me.”

“Have you no shame? Speaking about the goddess such?” Macuil hissed, glaring at Byleth and taking a step forward, his hand wreathed in flame.

“Please, uncle!” Cethleann protested, holding him back.

Seiros could well understand the anger, if she’d not felt what she had then rage would burn even hotter than Macuil’s. The pain drove them all.

“Prior to this joining with Sothis, had she ever granted you other abilities? Some unique skill derived from her power.” Seiros pressed. She saw a slight glint of recognition in Byleth’s eyes that she would have missed were she not watching so closely. “Please, speak.”

“There was… the divine pulse, she would allow me to turn back time a short while to save myself, or others.” He eventually admitted. 

“And can you still use this power?” Seiros asked. Byleth gave a short nod.

Seiros glanced towards Macuil and by his wicked smirk she could tell what he was about to do. “Macuil!” She cried, too late to stop him. 

Macuil focused and muttered quietly, yet before he even finished speaking or his spell manifested Byleth had already leapt a few feet back, dodging the lightning bolt that dropped from the sky a second later. Macuil blinked, dumbfounded, he prided himself on the clean accuracy of his spellwork and it was not common for him to miss.To fail hitting a stationary target was unheard of. 

“Does that serve as adequate proof for you Macuil?” Seiros asked. Byleth finally showed some emotion, his mouth dropped open at the scorched ground he’d narrowly avoided becoming part of. Macuil begrudgingly muttered some agreement, still looking at Byleth disbelievingly.

“Good.” Seiros agreed then turned to Byleth. “I believe, based upon what Cethleann explained, that your presence here was caused by a similar phenomenon to your divine pulse. But worry not, I am sure the goddess will reveal a path to you, to lead you home. But in the meantime I request you stay with us. It would be unwise for you to wander alone.” She advised. Seiros had no doubt Nemesis would dearly love to craft a second sword to match his first. 

“Can I have my sword back?” Byleth requested quietly, a hint of hope in his voice.

Seiros looked down at the blade in her hands, even incomplete it was all she had left of her Mother, all she’d managed to regain, where Byleth fit into all this she couldn’t say for certain yet. “No.” She answered. “It is a powerful weapon, and much as I wish to trust you, I cannot give it to you until we know for certain you are an ally.”

Byleth looked between the saints who stood beside Seiros, eyes lingering on each for a time. Eventually his body drooped. “Okay then.” He whispered.

“Come now, there is no need to fear.” She consoled him, placing a hand upon his cheek and lifting his gaze to meet her own as she looked through him. “I promise we will not let anything happen to you.” _ Not again, never again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, and so marks the end of the first long section of this fic, the pace will pick up a bit more now with time jumps happening now that the Byleth situation has been addressed. Hope y'all enjoyed reading and I look forward to many more chapters with you.


	5. The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth needs some time to think, and falls back on an old hobby passed on by Jeralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi everyone, here's the monday update, for those who missed it there was an extra chapter uploaded on Friday because it was my birthday, so go back and take a look if you did miss it.

The cork bob floated serenely on the surface of the calm lake. Nary a ripple flowed across its undisturbed face, making it into a natural mirror. Byleth hardly paid attention to his line, rod held loosely between his fingers. Rather he stared straight down at the surface.

It wasn’t until a few days after joining with Seiros and her Saints that Byleth first caught sight of his reflection on Indech’s armour. He never thought himself to be particularly vain but he hadn’t been able to stop staring at himself. The green was disconcerting, and there was a strong disconnect between what he expected to see in the mirror and what greeted him. 

He briefly wondered what his students would think of him looking like this, Claude would likely speculate about the connection it had to him merging with Sothis. Hilda would probably gift him some accessories to set off his colour palette instead of doing her homework. Raphael would just ask if it helped him bulk up more. Whenever he thought on the golden deer his chest ached in a way he’d only experienced after his Father died. 

He felt a strong tug at his line before it went fully slack. He quickly reeled it back in to see the bait had been snatched clean off the hook. Were he not so lost in thoughts he would have noticed the nibbles plucking at it earlier and likely have caught something. He could only guess at what, he supposed they were in Kingdom territory now based on the foliage that surrounded their small camp. They’d descended Northwards from the mountains and the air was a little warmer and much thicker. No one would tell him their destination though. 

The little lake he’d found to fish at was well secluded and had a rocky outcropping by one shore which he now sat upon. The buds of new leaves speckled the branches of nearby trees greeting the coming spring, it was picturesque, the sort of place he could see Ignatz sneaking off to paint.

He reached into the bait bucket, and plucked out a grasshopper between two fingers. He lined it up with his fishing hook.

“Ah, here you are.” Byleth started at the interruption, his hook sliced into his thumb drawing forth some blood.

“Yes Se-Cichol.” Byleth replied, it was so easy to slip into calling him Seteth without thinking. Byleth looked over his shoulder at the Saint who grimaced at the incorrect address before composing himself fairly swiftly. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking down at Byleth.

“You went missing shortly after we stopped to camp, Seiros was concerned about where you’d gone, so I volunteered to seek you out.” Cichol supplied, sounding proud of being any service to Seiros. He looked out over the lake and then back to Byleth. “A lovely spot.” He acknowledged. “What brought you out here?” he pressed unsubtly. Byleth knew that Cichol didn’t trust him, it was only Seiros’ word that kept him from being tied up again.

“Fishing.” Byleth said simply, holding up a fishing hook in his bloodied hand.

“Fishing is it? Ah, I had not expected such, I beg your pardon for disturbing your concentration.” Cichol said, but he made no move to leave. Instead he stayed where he was, looming over Byleth.

Deciding it was best to ignore the Saint’s presence Byleth re-baited his hook and cast out his line once more. He sat in silence for some 20 minutes, being allowed alone to stew in his thoughts before Cichol finally spoke up.

“Do you often go fishing?” He asked.

“Sometimes, more often when I need time to think.” He watched his line carefully, did it just bob? It may have been a trick of the light.

“Hmm, It can be a therapeutic hobby. Although it is one I have not indulged in much in more recent times.” Seteth observed from over Byleth’s shoulder.

“Since your wife died.” Byleth finished softly, without thinking.

“Who told you that?” Cichol snapped defensively, and Byleth realised his blunder. A stern hand upon his shoulder had Byleth turning around quickly. The lines of Cichol’s face were drawn tense as he struggled to keep his feelings under control. 

“No, no one told me.” Byleth sighed. “I got you confused with a friend, one you remind me of often.” He explained and saw a little tension drain from Cichol.

“Ah, I presume that it is this ‘Seteth’ fellow who you mentioned before.” He pursed his lips unhappily at the name.

“Yeah, him.” Byleth nodded. “It’s uncanny, you and Cethleann are just so much like Flayn and Seteth, not just in looks but in how you act, how you speak, even so many parts of your history match up.” Including the wife who loved fishing. “But, they live a thousand years from now, it must just be a coincidence.” Everyone said his father was strangely ageless, but going for a few decades without changing in appearance much, and living for one thousand years were very different.

“Tell me, Byleth, is there anyone else amongst our party that you find familiar?” Cichol asked after a moment, staring hard at Byleth.

“Seiros. She reminds me of Rhea, the Archbishop at the monastery.” Byleth answered haltingly, although there was more of a difference there, Rhea seemed much more mellow, he’d only seen her riled up a handful of times, although those moments were a terrifying sight to behold. Seiros seemed every part the avenging goddess, although hints of Rhea’s kindness did peek through now and again. 

He still wasn’t sure how to feel about the way that Seiros would stare at him sometimes. Like she was waiting for something. Maybe some sign of Sothis. He wouldn’t mind some sign that she wasn’t gone either. It was so quiet in his head without her.

“Have you considered that these friends of yours may well be Cethleann and myself?” Cichol asked as if it were the natural conclusion to come to.

“No, I haven’t.” It was a ridiculous idea. “If I am from so far in the future then there’s no way the two of you could even still be alive then.” As he spoke he noticed that Cichol looked genuinely confused.

“Byleth. My brothers and I, as well as Seiros are all several millennia old.” Cichol informed him slowly. “The Children of the Goddess have far longer lives than humans, our bodies are different.”

“So, you think that…”

“Yes, it is more than likely that the ‘Seteh’ and ‘Flayn’ you know are Cethleann and myself.” Cichol stared at him seriously.

Things began to click into place, Seteth’s wife was buried near a monument to Saint Cichol, the Death Knight kidnapped Flayn for her blood, not her crest but _her blood_. Their outdated clothing, Seteth’s admiration and love of the Saints but Cethleann in particular, even how much Ignatz claimed Flayn reminded him of Cethleann. Byleth would need to remember to pay more attention to his students’ hunches when he got back.

Whilst all these thoughts whirled in his head, the only sign he gave of his confusion was a slight tightening of his lips. If he was a more emotive person he’d likely be laughing at his own stupidity for missing it for so long. Cichol and Seteth, Cethleann and Flayn. 

“I didn’t know.” He said softly, staring back out at the water. “The Children of the Goddess aren’t really known about in my time. But… you could be right” He admitted.

“Perhaps that is for the best, with what has been done to us in the past, secrecy may be the best defense.” Cichol replied, half to himself.

“Why wouldn’t you have mentioned meeting me before, if you _are_ Seteth?” Byleth asked.

“Would you have believed me if I mentioned anything of the sort?” Cichol pointed out astutely. 

“No. Probably not.” Byleth admitted, shifting his grip on the fishing rod, his hands felt so clammy all of a sudden. His eyes were drawn down to his reflection in the water once more. Green like Seteth, green like Flayn and Rhea, and the Saints. He wondered what else changed when he merged with Sothis. “I’ll need to ask Seteth and Flayn about it when I get back.”

“That may be for the best.”

Byleth hummed in agreement, and felt a tug on his line, he began to pull it taut. He didn’t want to miss another catch today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Flayn eats them all. I don't know where I was going with that. Thanks for reading, I hope I'm doing a decent job representing characters from the game, I try to keep everyone fairly faithful to their original representations. Hope people are enjoying, and remember, comments are part of an author's balanced diet.


	6. The Saints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth gets his first taste of battle alongside his new companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, due to some changes in work times I'll be uploading on Sundays rather than Mondays, at least for the next few chapters. It's not a big difference, I just thought I'd warn everyone.

“You will remain on the back lines with Cethleann, you need not worry, no harm will come to you there.” Seiros had told Byleth, her face tight and smile strained. 

Everything had seemed so tranquil the past few weeks, their travels had them gradually heading Northwest further and further into Kingdom territory (or what would be Kingdom territory one day). Although Byleth couldn’t say he was trusted by the Saints yet (aside from Cethleann) he believed that they were becoming less vigilant with their constant watch over him, allowing him small moments of privacy. Yet from experience Byleth knew that peace and calm could turn to the chaos of battle at the drop of a hat, a mercenary lives on such a guarantee. 

So, it was hardly a surprise that when travelling through a pass they’d stumbled across a large portion of Nemesis’ forces. Byleth hadn’t known how many Imperial soldiers they had been travelling alongside (part of his watch’s duty was to keep him away from the bulk of the army), but as more and more were pulled screaming and bloodied into the field hospital his estimation kept rising. The army must be on a scale unheard of in modern Fodlan. 

He chafed being stuck in the field hospital, if Seiros would just return the Sword of the Creator he could contribute on the frontlines. Some of the wounded babbled about Elites with Relics. Having some of their own could make all the difference. Yet every night when he asked if she would return the sword Seiros would just give an apologetic smile and say, “not yet.” Or Macuil would snap at him.

Dozens of beleaguered clerics dashed about the pavilion hurriedly tending to those who’d been injured, moving out the properly healed and the dead in order to make room for more. It was a world of pain and blood and whimpered pleas. But Cethleann stood amongst it all undaunted.

All of the other healers gave the saint a wide berth as she moved from mat to mat. She overflowed with magic channelled through her staff, and sewed back together the most grievous of injuries in a flash. Byleth trailed close behind her, any wounds missed by her ministrations he did his best to close with precise bursts of his own magic. He silently thanked Manuela for insisting he learn white magic for when his students needed it. Standing around uselessly would have been intolerable in this place.

As close as he stuck to Cethleann he noticed the other clerics present giving him strange looks, like he was breaking some unspoken rule.

“People are staring at us.” Byleth muttered to Cethleann as they kneeled on either side of a man with a gaping axe wound in his abdomen.

“Ah, that is one of the difficulties of the image Seiros and the others like to project.” She replied as the gentle glow of healing magic lit up the space between them. “It’s a novel experience to be able to work with assistance.”

Between the two of them they were able to heal the man, although Byleth couldn’t say whether he’d actually live or not. A lot of blood had spilled from his wounds before they’d managed to close them.

As they rose Cethleann staggered and nearly fell. Byleth reacted swiftly, catching her in his arms. “Flayn.” He hissed as he caught her.

She blinked up at him owlishly, her green eyes wide. “Oh, I do not think I’ve seen you look so worried before Byleth.” She commented, sagging against him.

He gently lowered Cethleann to the ground so she could fold her legs underneath herself to sit. “You don’t need to push yourself so far.” He admonished.

“I am afraid that I do. Father, my Uncles and Seiros are all out there pushing themselves just as far, I cannot do any less.” She replied weakly.

“You won’t be able to do anything at all if you collapse.” He said. “Now take a break, there are plenty of others here to pick up the slack.”

The way that everyone avoided Cethleann Byleth guessed that when she fell before no one way there to catch her. His student would work herself to death to prove a point. The leather of his glove creaked as his fist clenched.

Cethleann looked ready to argue against taking a break when an imperial soldier burst through the canvas flaps of the pavilion that housed the field hospital.

“We… we need to move the injured! There’s a monster headed this way!” He shouted, panting. Everyone froze for a moment. “Go! Go! Saint Macuil is engaging the beast but we need to get out of the way!” He urged in a panic.

The field hospital burst into furious action as the evacuation began. Not even taking a moment to think Byleth quickly looked to Cethleann “Get yourself to safety.” He ordered her before grabbing a sword from the scabbard of one of the injured soldiers and sprinting out of the infirmary.

“Wait! Your-uh-holiness you’re going the wrong way.” The soldier who’d brought the news protested as Byleth ran past him. 

Your Holiness? What was he talking about?

Byleth ran from the pavilion and immediately realised it was too late to evacuate. Less than a hundred metres away Macuil was in combat with a demonic beast easily as large as the one Miklan had turned into.

The Saint was impressive in combat, despite his bulky dark robes he whirled and leapt about, nimbly dodging the acidic gunk sprayed by the reptilian beast. In the flash of an eye Macuil flung out his hand, floating in mid-air and unleashing an ice spell he froze the creature’s front legs in place. He landed gracefully and dashed in close, burying his shining sword in the meat of the creature’s thigh. It roared furiously, ripping its leg out and shattering the ice keeping it trapped, then it batted away Macuil as if he was no more than a child. 

Byleth ran to intercede. He may not have the Sword of the Creator, but he wasn’t helpless without it. He stretched out his hand and focused on gathering what reserves of magical energy he had into a powerful aura spell when an unfamiliar incantation came unbidden to his lips.

_ “Radiance that bridges the infinite darkness emerge, Starlight!” _ he cried. Dozens of beams of pale blue light emerged from his hand in twisting deadly ribbons. They pelted against the scaly hide of the beast, tearing deep into its flesh and exploding into shining motes. 

Where had that come from? What even was that? Like for many mysteries in his life, Byleth wasn’t given the luxury of contemplation. Although his attack had driven the demonic beast back it proved resilient as many of its kind. It swivelled its grotesque face towards Byleth, the crest stone on its forehead glowed ominously as it hissed at him.

The beast broke into a charge rapidly eating up the distance between itself and Byleth. He held his sword out before himself in a ready stance, watching for its attack.

Thankfully the beast was not subtle, bellowing as it raised a claw to rip Byleth apart. Before it landed he leapt to the side, rolling as he landed before springing back to his feet. Only to be sprayed by acidic breath as he rose. 

He screamed in agony as he lost vision and his flesh felt like it burst aflame all over. There was a ringing scream in his ears, its agony strong enough to match his own. He didn’t want to contemplate why that was and wasted no time pulling upon the divine pulse.

He leapt to the side, then sprung backwards further, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A splash of acid burned deep into the ground where he’d just been standing, and he ran in low. He thrust out with his borrowed sword and managed to pierce the beast through the chest. It screamed in agony, flailing back and forth but Byleth managed to hold strong. 

Innumerable bolts of lightning and an arrow of flame pierced the beast through its back. Its struggles abruptly ceased as the light in its eyes went out, whatever foul magic served to animate it finally giving out. 

Its body faded into blackened smoke and Byleth heard a thump from a few paces ahead of himself, he didn’t need to look to know it was the body of whatever unfortunate had died to become the Demonic Beast.

“Byleth! Byleth!?” Seiros shouted, running over towards him recklessly.

“Seiros, what are you doing here?” Byleth asked as Seiros grabbed him by the arm, inspecting him for injuries.

“You could have died.” She said hollowly, before turning sharply to look at Macuil, who was limping over towards the pair. “He was supposed to be kept away from the battle.” She hissed.

“I sent the message for the medics to evacuate.” He claimed before grimacing and clutching his ribs. “It’s not my fault that he chose to ignore it.” Macuil’s voice lacked some of its usual bite.

“He-“ Seiros held herself back, taking a deep breath before turning to Byleth once more. “You did not have to throw yourself into the fight. I put you on the backlines for a reason.” She explained carefully.

“Evacuating wouldn’t have kept me safe either way, not with that on the loose. I had to take action.”

Seiros sighed deeply and looked Byleth up and down. “I suppose not. Still, I am glad to see you unharmed.” She admitted, then she looked to her side. “It seems we have gathered an audience. Perhaps it would be best to discuss this further at a later time.”

Byleth looked around, discomforted to notice that a large number of soldiers had gathered around the three of them, forming a circular perimeter, yet not straying too close as if some invisible barrier had been erected.

“They’re staring.” Byleth stated.

“Humans always stare at the improbable.” Macuil laughed harshly before doubling over as he fell into a painful coughing fit. When he was done he wiped away a drop of blood from his lips and looked to Byleth. “Give me a hand, will you? The others can finish up the battle. I need to go see my niece.”

Byleth let him sling an arm over his shoulder and began walking him away.

“I still don’t believe your whole story but… thank you.” Macuil said begrudgingly as he limped along.

Byleth nodded, and the crowd of onlookers parted silently to let the two of them through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh When the Saints, Go Marching in. Oh When the Saints Go Marching in! *trumpet blares*. Seriously though, a few notes here. Yes, I know Byleth does not learn Starlight in any way in game, but he should! For those unfamiliar with it, Starlight is a spell created by the sage Gotoh in the Archanea series of games, it's used to defeat one of the main antagonists who is invincible against everything else. I gave it to Byleth here as a link to Sothis' power, her abilities frequently have celestial connotations, and she is called 'Fell Star' by TWSITD, so I figured it fits.  
Also, Macuil: It's not like I like you or anything B-Baka!   
Hope you all enjoyed.


	7. The Relics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indech and Byleth practice archery, and some truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people, here be a new chapter, hope people like it. We're closing in on the end now. Three chapters after this one, hope people like it.

Indech had never really thought himself to be a people person. He often preferred comfortable silence to any sort of forced conversation and he frequently felt the need to withdraw from the company of others for some alone time. He’d never really felt the need to take the lead in social situations, that often fell to Cichol or Macuil. 

When it came to learning to fight he continued in this same trend. Macuil learnt his swordplay and spells to explode boldly onto a battlefield, Cichol made good use of his wyvern’s size and strength to assert his own presence, but Indech preferred to fade into the background, and so he’d taken up the bow. People didn’t need to see his handiwork for it to get done after all. 

Byleth was another matter on which he stayed silent, his words were rarely needed.

“Can I have my sword back?” Byleth asked calmy. It was the same question he’d asked to Seiros every day since he joined them. Never demanding or angry, he wore that same placid look as he spoke. Except he wasn’t calm, it was subtle but there was an edge there in his voice, a tension and unspoken hope, Indech noticed.

“No, not today.” Seiros answered as always. Byleth gave her a silent nod, turned on his heel and walked away. That hope of his sinking once again.

Byleth sat down on the far side of the fire, warming his hands in its glow. Nights got cold this far North. Cethleann scooted up close to him and started a conversation with him about something, it was hard for Indech to make out from where he sat, but he thought he caught Byleth mentioning something about a theatre and he saw Cethleann’s eyes light up. From the corner of his eye he could see Cichol intently watching the two, a very displeased look on his face. It probably wouldn’t take much for his Brother to grab his spear and hurl it at Byleth. 

“’My Sword’. Does he have no idea what that sword means to Seiros? To all of us?” Macuil hissed to Indech. He’d noticed his brother had warmed a little to Byleth since the last battle but going from freezing to cold didn’t make a huge difference. At least he wasn’t planning on how to fry the young man any more. 

“No.” Indech said softly, contemplating Byleth. There seemed to be much he was unaware of, Cichol said he’d had to inform Byleth himself that the Children of the Goddess possessed far longer lifespans than humans. “I don’t think he even knows what it is.”

“Come now.” Macuil scoffed. “He claimed Seiros gave it to him, surely she wouldn’t pass on the sword without saying just what it was.”

Indech wasn’t so sure, he loved Seiros dearly, as they all did. But he knew there were many things she preferred to keep close to her chest.

He supposed there was one clear way for him to better understand what Byleth did or didn’t know. He took Inexhaustible in hand and walked over to Byleth. Before he even passed the campfire the young man looked towards his direction, but Cethleann kept chatting happily, only looking up as his shadow fell across her.

“Oh, hello uncle. Byleth was just telling me about a colleague of his who worked in an Opera company, it sounds very exciting.” She beamed up at Indech. He gave her a soft smile in return.

“I was going to train, I thought Byleth might like to join me.” He suggested, looking to Byleth.

Byleth stared at him, then looked him up and down, his eyes eventually settling on inexhaustible. “I’m not very good with a bow.” The young man said.

“That’s okay. I can show you the basics.”

Byleth seemed to think over his answer for a while before nodding. “Okay then. I’ll join you.”

“Come on then.” He turned away and started to walk down the slope away from their camp.

“Good luck, oh and Byleth please tell me more about this theatre later.” He heard Cethleann call from behind him.

There was the sound of soft hurried footsteps which slowed shortly afterwards as Byleth came up to walk beside Indech. Even though winter was passed Indech’s breath still fogged the night air, they’d camped on a hilltop, whilst the rest of the Imperial army was set up in a valley to the East. Indech led them west to the base of the hill, so the campfire of the saints was a distant pinprick on the dark bulk of the hill. 

“So, why did you want to talk?” Byleth asked halfway down the hill. Clearly not buying the pretence of training.

“I wanted to ask what you know of the sword you appeared with.” Indech said softly, feet light as he stepped over a half-concealed rabbit burrow in the gloom.

“The sword?” Byleth asked, his voice stalled as he stumbled on the burrow.

Indech waited for Byleth to catch up again before continuing on down the hill. “Yes, the sword.” He said.

“It resonates with the Crest of Flames… and it was… is used by Nemesis” Byleth replied haltingly.

So he didn’t know, curious.

“Why do you want it back so badly?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other man.

“I used it to get here… I think it may be my only way to get back home.” Byleth explained quietly.

“There’s something important you need to get back to, isn’t there?”

“There is.”

They shortly came to the bottom of the hill. A mostly dried up creek trickled slowly along near them. The ground around was littered with smooth, rounded pebbles. 

Indech stooped down to pick up a handful of pebbles, he looked to Byleth who stood staring at him, a slight questioning glint in his eyes.

Indech pressed the pebbles into Byleth’s hands, the young man stared down at them. 

“Can you throw these for me, I do want to get some practice in.” Indech explained.

“Ah, I see.”

Byleth tossed one stone high in the air as Indech readied Inexhaustible, the stone was nearly completely invisible against the night sky. Nearly. Indech drew, aimed and loosed his arrow in a fluid motion. A crack sounded loudly in the air and then a soft patter as the fragments of the shattered stone fell to the ground. 

“Very impressive.” Byleth sounded genuinely awed as he took in Indech’s marksmanship. The Saint felt a glow of pride at getting such a reaction from the stoic man.

“Again.” He spoke instead of boasting.

Byleth continued to throw the stones for Indech as their shattering cracks broke the stillness of the night, faster and faster they went until Byleth threw the last three stones at once. Not a single one reached the ground.

“I think that’s enough for now.” Byleth suggested, Indech nodded in acceptance and walked back over to the young man. “May I?” Byleth indicated towards Inexhaustible.

Indech looked down at his bow. He didn’t feel fully comfortable handing it over to another, but he highly doubted Byleth would run off with it.

“Okay.” He pressed the golden bow into Byleth’s waiting hand.

Byleth stood straight up and flexed the bow’s string a few times experimentally before holding it up to examine it in the moonlight.  
“It’s a fine weapon.” Byleth said. Indech agreed, the bow had seen him through many a difficult battle. The craftsmanship of the Nabateans was unmatched in this age, another tragedy of their peoples’ slaughter was the loss of such arts. “Is it a relic?” Indech’s breath stalled.

“What?” He whispered.

“A relic, like the Sword of the Creator.” Byleth continued. Indech knew for certain now that he truly had no idea what the sword was.

“No, I would never hold such an abomination.” Indech spat, venom dripping from his voice.

“Abomination? Why do you call them that.” Byleth questioned hesitantly.

“Because those things are a trophy of Nemesis’ conquest. He slaughtered our brethren, then he and those elites of his.” A lump caught in Indech’s throat, the pain never really went away, maybe he shouldn’t pass it on to Byleth, but he deserved the truth. “They made weapons from their corpses. And drank their cooling blood from their veins to gain strength.”

He looked to Byleth through blurry eyes, he was looking down towards the trickle of water flowing by their feet. He stared blankly, far away, and then his eyes widened.

“Then… the Sword of the Creator?” 

“Yes.” Indech nodded. “Nemesis killed the goddess in her sleep, ripped her bones from her body and her heart from her chest. Then he made that sword.” Byleth stayed silent staring at Indech. “That is why Seiros holds so tightly to the Sword, you may want it. But with what she’s lost, who she’s lost. She needs it.”

Byleth stood still, lost in his thoughts, hands clenched at his side. Indech turned and started walking up the hill once more. Byleth would probably need some time to himself, Indech knows he did when he found out.

Just before he walked out of earshot, he heard Byleth say to himself “Hilda was right.”

If this was unknown in the future Indech couldn’t help but worry what other truths had been lost to the passage of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, today it was Indech's turn to get some interaction with Byleth, I wanted him to get some time with each of the saints in this fic. My interpretation of Indech is based partly on his dialogue in game and partly on his saint statue, which claims he was "unskilled in the art of human interaction." Which doesn't really match up with how he is in game. So I assumed that it was more a matter of him being a withdrawn and observational person. At least that's the read I get on him. ALSO HILDA TOTALLY CALLED IT! RELICS ARE PEOPLE! Hope you all enjoyed, thanks for reading.


	8. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle with Nemesis looms, and Seiros revisits her past in hopes of seeing her mother again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo everybody, here's chapter 8, wowza we're really closing in on the end here, just a couple more weeks and the story will be done. More notes at the end of the chapter.

No sign, there was till no sign of her mother. Byleth had been travelling with them for close to half a year and Seiros had heard nothing of her mother from him. The presence was so tauntingly clear, every time she stood near him she could almost swear it was her, but then she’d turn to look and see Byleth.

The final battle against nemesis was fast approaching, they’d had numerous skirmishes and smaller engagements throughout Northern Fodlan in the past few months, and they’d managed to beat the so called ‘King of Liberation’ back onto his last legs. It’s all be over soon, one part of Seiros was overjoyed that soon her mother, and her people, would be avenged. But a worm of doubt festered within her, a cornered rat is most dangerous, and all of Nemesis’ most elite forces would be gathered together for the coming battle. Victory was far from certain.

Before the final battle, she needed to see her. So, against the urgings of Cichol, Macuil and Indech, she had returned to a place she hoped she’d never have to go back to. 

“We’re going to Zanado.” Byleth said, the mountainous trail was steep and rocky and the two had to walk single file to make it up.

“You remember?” Seiros whirled around, heart caught in her throat, searching for that flicker of familiarity, or the open arms of her mother. She saw Byleth’s blank look.

“I’ve been there before.” He said.

“I see.” Seiros replied quietly, turning back and leading them further up the path, they were but a short way from the outskirts of the ruined city. 

Seiros and the others had been away from the city when the attack occurred. When they returned everyone was gone, there weren’t even bodies to bury. But there was blood, so much, everywhere. It seemed to seep in and stain the very walls of the canyon itself. They couldn’t call it Zanado anymore, it was the home of the goddess no longer. It was the red canyon. Dyed in the blood of her brethren. 

They crossed a rope bridge to enter the city proper, the carved wooden arch marking the boundary of Zanado and the bridge itself were both already falling into disrepair, wood starting to splinter and dry out in the sun as it wasn’t maintained. 

The city though, it was so close to how Seiros remembered it. The fountain in the town square had dried up, and spindly trees and dry weeds grew through gaps in the paved walkways, and vines climbed up the walls of houses. But the structures stood the same, the bright shine of the blacksmith’s furnace in the sun, the smooth white coating on the walls of the houses, the market stalls set up in the square that had been left untouched for years. It was almost as if the people of Zanado had simply gotten up one day and abandoned the city.

But the stains were there.

Once bright red, they’d faded over time to a dirty brown, far different to the pale yellow-brown of the dust that would sometimes cake the walls of houses. Each was a splash of blood. Beside a market stall, against the furnace, painted loud on the once white walls. They were gone and Seiros felt her heart almost burst at returning.

“This place…” Byleth breathed from beside her. He stepped forward, as if in a daze. He stumbled slightly and had to steady his hand against the wall of a nearby house. “It wasn’t like this.” He whispered, gazing around, eyes wides and mouth partly agape.

Despite how horrible returning was, she felt her heart soar at the emotion, this could be it. “Do you remember… what do you recall of Zanado?” She prompted, taking his arm gently and leading him forward.

“It was… peaceful, comforting.” He struggled with his words and blinked in surprise after he spoke, as if he was unsure where they came from. “There were so many people, living long, quiet lives.”

“You do not seem well, coming back here is confronting for me as well. Come, I know a place where we can rest.” Seiros said, insistently pulling Byleth on as her heart sped up in her chest. 

She could trace the steps through town in her sleep, but in her dreams the streets were not so empty. Three streets down and she took a right, then another one further on, finally a left turn down a lane shadowed by a large tree brought her to a house.

It was a simple structure, not particularly large or grandiose, a wide, low building with a flat roof. Big enough to house a few people comfortably, but by no means was it like the enormous status symbols of human kings and nobility. Mother really never cared much for such things. She’d complain about getting antsy being stuck indoors, and spent more time amongst her people than in her home.

Byleth’s steps slowed more as they approached the door, and Seiros had to tug at his arm a bit more firmly to keep him following. “Come M-Byleth, we are so close.” So, so close, she could feel it.

The door stuck and she had to force it open, no one had lived here for many years even before the attack, but the Nabateans wouldn’t let the house of Sothis go to rot. She knew it would one day though, time could be merciless.

Seiros led Byleth through the darkened interior, helping him sit down upon the bed her mother had once slept in.

She stroked his hair gently as he sat, eyes closed, hands gripping the dusty sheets tightly. “Why did you bring me here?” He asked quietly 

“Do you remember this house? I grew up here.” Seiros said, Byleth remained silent. “I remember once when I was young I fell ill with a terrible fever. For days I languished on the edge of consciousness, endlessly sweating and coughing. It was so painful.” She rested her hand on Byleth’s back and she could feel her mother’s presence so strongly. “As I lay here, Mother never left my side, she made up a song to comfort me.”

Seiros began humming, the words floating through her head as she did so.  
_In time’s flow, see the glow.  
Of flames ever burning bright.  
On the swift, river’s drift.  
Broken memories alight. _

“I’m not her.”

Seiros started out of her reverie and looked to Byleth, he met her gaze evenly. There was none of her mother’s playful fondness in those eyes. They were blank save for a shade of pity in them.

“I didn’t say you were.” Seiros replied, hastily turning away. She took her hand off of Byleth’s back. 

She stood up to leave, this whole idea was foolish. She couldn’t expect to just go to Zanado and miraculously have her mother reappear. 

“I miss her too.” Byleth said.

“What?” She turned back to look at him, but he had barely moved, his gaze roamed slowly, taking in the room.

“She was with me for so long. I don’t know if I was really alive before her, my memories can be fuzzy. Hers were too.” He smiled ruefully, Seiros was taken aback at the expression.

“You _do_ have her memories.” She pressed. 

“Just flashes, really.” Byleth shook his head. “Feelings, sometimes. How she felt, I mean.” He took a steadying breath. “Before she gave me her power we would puzzle over what they could mean, she wasn’t too sympathetic over my own confusion.” He chuckled.

“She was a force to be reckoned with.” Seiros agreed, smiling slightly. No one could call Sothis a pushover.

“She always had to have the last word.”

“She always knew what was best.” Seiros’ mouth went dry and her smile faded. 

“Now she’s gone. It feels like there’s a hole, an empty space in my head.” Byleth admitted.

“There’s one in my heart… I don’t think it’ll ever go away.” Not unless she can come back, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.

“We just have to live on without her. As best we can.” Byleth said, standing up.

Seiros took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, straightening up. “We head soon to the Tailtean plains, I intend to have my vengeance for mother there.” With some hesitance she took the Sword of the Creator from where it hung on her belt, holding it hilt first towards Byleth.

“I know you wish to return home, but will you help me put down the beast who killed her?” Perhaps there’s still a chance, if he holds the sword, if he stays a little longer.

“I will.” Byleth grasped the sword in his hand. Seiros swore she could see a flicker of her mother’s determination in his eyes. So close. Still so close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so two important things to cover in regards to how I interpret the lore.  
1- The Nabateans/ The Children of the Goddess in my interpretation are not all literally children of Sothis, they're sort of like a chosen people, I guess is the best way to put it. They lived alongside her, but only Seiros was her daughter.  
2- I always viewed Byleth as being a reincarnation of Sothis, sort of like Aang and Avatar Roku in ATLA, so Byleth sometimes gets flashes of Sothis' memories (like in game when you visit the Red Canyon), but they couldn't really be taken over and possessed by her so to speak, because they ARE her, the soul is the same but the identity is different. At least that's how I'm treating it. Seiros doesn't actually know this of course, so she lives in hope.


	9. The Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth fights alongside the Saints in the final battle against Nemesis and the Elites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, new chapter. Only one left to go! I am so thankful to everyone who's read this far. This work has surpassed 200 kudos which is nuts to me! That's more than anything I've ever written before, so I give an enormous thank you to everyone who has been reading this!

Tailtean was chaos. The skies poured forth an endless deluge turning the ground beneath Byleth’s feet to sticky sludge which sucked at his feet with every step. Shouts and screams of humans and beasts filled the air in a dreadful cacophony as blade clashed against blade. 

Byleth’s knuckles tightened around the Sword of the Creator as he blocked a wild hacking axe cut aimed at his head. He retaliated with a swift slash that sent the woman attacking him down in a spray of blood all too swiftly washed away by the rain.

He took a moment to breathe and reorient himself. The battle was chaotic and far larger than any he’d been in before, but he just needed to keep his focus narrowed. Find immediate threats and deal with them. 

More than once someone on his side had stopped to almost attack him due to the glow of his relic, but taking a glance at his hair and the muddied white and gold of the armour Seiros had given him caused most to back down.

His relic. Knowing what the sword was made his skin crawl, but at the same time he felt so much more complete with it in hand, it was almost like having Sothis speaking in his ear once more. And hopefully it would be his key back to his own time.

But first there was a war to end.

He knew that this was the day that Seiros would triumph over Nemesis, it took a lot of weight off Byleth’s shoulders knowing how the fight would turn out. In most battles an overpowering tension drove his actions, seek out the enemy commanders, face the strongest foes, do whatever it takes to protect the students. But knowing this battle would be decided by another stopped that tension from growing.

A mistake.  
The blast of a thoron spell caught Byleth dead in the chest, sending him flying. He grunted through gritted teeth as his back slammed onto the muddied ground, it took some effort to push himself back to his feet as every few seconds an aftershock of the electric spell caused a spasming in his limbs. 

There was a faint whistling and Byleth barely managed to force his unresponsive limbs into a roll, dodging to the side as a glowing red blade cut the air.

Quick as he could Byleth threw out a hand, casting a Nosferatu spell on his attacker. The man made no sound at the attack but he flinched, giving Byleth enough time to recover and ready his own sword to defend himself. He glanced at the weapon held by the stranger and felt a chill as he recognized Thunderbrand. He’d seen the damage that blade could wreak in Catherine’s hands, this was not a foe to take lightly.

Charon pressed the attack swiftly, closing the distance between himself and Byleth and laying into him with a dizzying speed. His sword seemed to come from every direction at once, forcing Byleth constantly to give ground as he brought the Sword of the Creator up to block each blow in turn. Every time the two blades clashed a thunderous boom sounded over the battlefield, drowning out the sound of the raging storm.

Byleth remained calm as he could, eyes carefully tracking Charon’s movements as he defended against the Elite’s blows. Right when the Elite finished an overhead swing, he left himself just a little bit too wide open. Not enough for a sword, but a vicious punch filled the gap well, sending Charon staggering back a few steps.

Just enough for Cichol’s wyvern to descend between the two of them.

“Cichol!” Byleth shouted at the wyvern rider.

Cichol levelled the Spear of Assal at Charon. “Byleth, fall back. I shall handle this heretic.” He declared, spurring his wyvern into a charge towards the Elite.

Byleth had no room to argue, he’d rather not engage with any of the elites. He didn’t know who was supposed to live and die today, which bloodlines had already been passed on and which hadn’t. If Goneril died would that be the end of Hilda? If Reigan perished would Claude never be born?

It was best to avoid the scarlet glow of relics altogether, he decided.

He managed for a few minutes, engaging in quick exchanges and bloody skirmishes as he moved across the battlefield, steering himself carefully away from the ominous glow of relics he could see drawing slowly closer.

Then he heard a familiar grating screech, and the screams of dying soldiers. On instinct Byleth dropped flat to the ground and heard something swish through the air where he had just been standing. As Byleth clambered to his feet once more he saw him.

Nemesis.

He’d expected the King of liberation to garb himself like a knight, finely armoured in shining plate, perhaps atop a mighty warhorse. But Nemesis in his jagged, minimal armour, his bare chest displayed, reminded Byleth more of the brigands he once fought in the Red Canyon than anything else.

The Sword of the Creator held by nemesis was identical to Byleth’s own, save for the crest stone that pulsed slowly upon its crossguard. Staring at the stone a fury came over Byleth like he hadn’t felt since he’d chased Kronya through the woods months ago.

_He did it, he ripped the stone from my chest. _ It was like travelling to Zanado with Seiros, flickers of the past painted over the present in a baffling collage. He could feel the stillness of the tomb, and the roar of the battle. Resting calmly on the throne and sprinting furiously across the muddy ground. Right as his sword clashed with Nemesis’ he felt the agony of having his chest ripped open. 

He screamed ferally into Nemesis’ face.

The King of Liberation forced his sword forward, knocking Byleth back. “Who are you?” Nemesis breathed.

Byleth didn’t answer, instead he wildly slashed at nemesis again, the twin glows of their swords dancing as their blades clashed again and again. Nemesis’ eyes widened as he took in Byleth’s blade. “Impossible.” 

“DIE!” Byleth shouted, attacking again and again. He just needed to break Nemesis’ guard, kill the murderer. For Sothis. For himself. The rage was bubbling violently within him, it felt like it was searing his veins. 

Nemesis’ hand shot out in the midst of one of Byleth’s desperate strikes, seizing him by the throat and lifting him into the air. Byleth dropped his sword as his hands scrabbled at the unyielding grip on his neck. 

He needed to get free. Byleth reached for the divine pulse, but something strange happened, the crest stone on Nemesis’ sword pulsed and a throbbing pain shot through Byleth’s chest in time with its beat. The divine pulse slipped from his grasp. Nemesis just held him there, dangling, his grip painful but not quite enough to cut off Byleth’s air supply fully.

“Sothis… so it is you.” Nemesis’ eyes looked over Byleth hungrily. “I’d heard reports of another Nabatean, but I never expected this.”

“I’ll… kill… you.” Byleth hissed, trying to crush the arm of the man holding him, but there was some kind of superhuman strength to Nemesis.

“You came back to me today.” Nemesis said, a faint smile on his face. His hand tightened and Byleth couldn’t breathe. “Perhaps this is a sign of my victory.” His grin grew more predatory as he stared at Byleth, a dark desirous gleam in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll have a shield made to match my sword.”

Byleth’s blood ran cold, if he had a heartbeat he was sure it would have stuttered, his vision was darkening and his head swam.

“Nemesis!” A shout rang over the battlefield.

Nemesis turned to look to the voice. Seeing his chance Byleth conjured a flame in his hand, and thrust it into Nemesis’ neck. He roared in pain and threw Byleth aside. Byleth skidded in the mud, eventually coming to a rest after sliding for a few metres. He lay still taking in deep gulps of wet air as the spots dancing across his vision cleared.

As he pushed himself to sit up he saw Seiros straddling Nemesis where she’d knocked him prone.

“You’ll die for that! Die! Die!” She yelled, stabbing Nemesis over and over, not stopping until long after he was well and truly dead.

Byleth started walking slowly towards her, the clouds cleared, the sun breaking through at last. Seiros picked up Nemesis’ sword, cradling it as gently as one would a baby. She held it against her skin, staining herself with blood and mud. Since coming to the past Byleth had never seen her look so serene.

He stooped down to pick up his own sword where it had fallen from his grasp, clumsily he managed to sheath it at his side once more. He stood a short ways away from Seiros, as she sat lost in her own world.

Eventually Cichol, Macuil, Indech and Cethleann came to stand beside him, each as haggard as Byleth himself felt. 

Finally Seiros stood up, the Sword of the Creator still held carefully in her grasp. She looked from one of her companions to the next, that contented smile still on her bloodied face.  
“Thank you, my friends for standing with me. For helping me claim my revenge. For our people.” She looked to Byleth. “For Mother.”

“So. It’s all over?” Byleth asked, his voice rasping uncomfortably.

Seiros let out a sharp breath, bordering on a laugh. “Yes. It is over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I know Byleth can beat Nemesis at the end of GD but right now he's not as strong as he is at the end of GD, he also had Claude to help him there. Being a bit weaker, being overtaken by rage for Sothis and being alone gives the battle a very different outcome. If you liked or have any thoughts or questions, please comment, I try to respond to every single one :).


	10. The Millennium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie Dokie here's the last chapter, I've been happy to share this fic with you all, and I hope you enjoyed it. With not much else to say, I'll let you get into it.

Whoops of joy and the roar of celebration filled the air behind Byleth’s back. The rain over Tailtean had cleared but the ground still squished softly underfoot, sucking his boots down with every step. As he moved further and further away from the feasting tent the noise quietened and darkness took hold. 

He placed his hand on the pommel of the Sword of the Creator, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the blade once he got home, perhaps it should go back to the Holy Tomb. Knowing the sword is all that was left of Sothis was chilling. Using a friend as a weapon felt foul, no matter how strong it was. 

“Were you not going to say goodbye?”

Byleth jumped and instinctually whirled towards the voice, ready to draw his sword. Cethleann stood a short way away, the soft green of her hair shining in the moonlight. Byleth relaxed his stance at the sight of the girl, the war had made him too paranoid. He couldn’t go jumping at every student who surprised him when he got back.

“I’m not great with farewells.” He muttered softly, his voice was still weak from Nemesis, an enormous bruise had already started forming on his neck.

“Well then, at least allow me to see you off. It is the least I can do after all you’ve done for us.” Cethleann said, nodding to herself.

“Alright then.” Byleth shrugged. He drew a breath and took the Sword of the Creator in hand, facing the empty air.

“Please take care Byleth. I will miss you.” There was a slight hitch to her voice.

“Don’t worry.” He said, back turned to her “We’ll meet again.”

“That gladdens me.” 

Byleth focused upon the sword, the feeling of wholeness it granted, and the overwhelming strength he first felt when he fused with Sothis. The red glow of the sword began to intensify and the air wavered around Byleth as he held it tight. Cethleann gasped softly as Byleth felt his breaths come quicker.

In one swift motion he thrust his sword into the air, thinking on his students. Just as he remembered them during the battle with Kronya. Claude, Hilda, Marrianne, Lorenz, Leonie, Lysithea, Ignatz, Raphael, Flayn. He let each face wash through his mind and guide his sword. For a second he felt it catch, and he got ready to pull it down, open a doorway through time as he did months ago. 

The sword slipped. It was like balancing the point of a knife on a block of ice. He lost purchase and the glow of the sword abated. He was sent staggering forward, breathing harshly and doubled over.

“Byleth!” Cethleann gasped, rushing over to his side. He looked up to her, flicking his fringe out of his eyes, tight lines of worry creased the girl’s face. “What happened?”

“It… it wouldn’t stick.” He murmured, and a lump formed in his sore throat, panic stirring in his core. “I need to try again.” He declared, forcing himself upright.

“If you’re sure.” Cethleann sounded uneasy. It was fine though, getting it right first try was never a guarantee.

He tried again, and once more the Sword of the Creator couldn’t find purchase. He tried again, and the blade nearly slipped from his hand. On the fourth try it did fall from his grasp, his hand were shaking violently, and his chest ached like when he overused the divine pulse. He picked up the sword again, the Golden Deer needed him.

The sword was plucked from his hand. “Byleth, that is enough.” Cethleann said sharply, holding the sword carefully, eyes warily watching him as she backed away a step.

“Flayn. You don’t understand. I need to.”

“You need to rest Byleth. You’re hurting yourself, and it pains me to see it, so please stop. Wait for tomorrow, perhaps when you are well rested it will work.” He didn’t like waiting any longer, but her argument was sound. He truthfully wasn’t even sure he could lift his sword right now, let alone cut through time with it.

“Okay, let’s go back.” He nodded. “I’ll get some rest.” Cethleann sighed deeply, a relieved smile gracing her lips, Byleth gave her a weak nod in return.

The next day he fared no better, the day after was the same. Weeks on from the battle of Tailtean the army was making plans to move on, many of the drafted soldiers looked forward to returning to their families and finally going home. Byleth still couldn’t. No matter how many times he tried it was like trying to part a river with his sword.

But he couldn’t give up, his students needed him. When he spoke with Seiros about her mother’s powers she said that Sothis claimed the future was far more difficult to change than the past, that it was in constant motion. That it was unlikely even the goddess could move forward at a pace faster than time’s own march. Byleth’s heart sank.

Still he had to keep trying. Every day he poured all his strength into his blade as he tried to travel through time. When that failed he visited Zanado once more, looking through Sothis’ house for some clue as to how to utilise her power. He could find nothing. He then began searching through other outposts built by the Nabateans in the past, but still he could find nothing. There was no record of Sothis moving forward through time, he hoped it was because she saw no reason to do so, he feared it was because she couldn’t.

After nearly a decade passed he realised one day that he hardly looked any different, his hair had grown a little longer, cutting it was not a priority in his travels. If he looked closely he could see that the shape of his ears had changed slightly, they looked more angular, if only a little. A few weeks later a bone deep weariness began creeping over him. He dismissed it as regular exhaustion. He’d been working hard alongside Seiros and the Saints to begin construction of Garreg Mach since returning from his travels, so it was hardly unusual that he’d feel tired. 

He went to bed and woke up seven years later. 

The ground was being cleared for construction when he lay down, and when he awoke the stone shell of the cathedral was already half built. He panicked then, and spent hours trying to return home, cutting at the air until he couldn’t lift his arms anymore. Macuil found it amusing, Indech had the kindness to explain that the Children of the Goddess often had to sleep for long periods, especially the young ones. Byleth stared at his shaky hands through the now long curtain of mint green hair that obscured his vision. He had wondered, years ago, what had truly changed when he merged with Sothis. Now he had his answer.

The years kept slipping by and with time Byleth’s attempts to return home became less and less frequent. After living to a hundred and seeing next to no change in his appearance, aside from his now pointed ears, a new idea was beginning to form. The short and easy path home hadn’t worked, but perhaps the long one would.

So he waited. He saw the rise of Garreg Mach from the Oghma Mountains, he was there as the final brick was laid down. He was still nearly a thousand years away, but he would get home. 

He was disturbed a few years later to realise he couldn’t really remember the faces of his students. He took to marking off each of their birthdays every year, recalling what he could so that he wouldn’t forget. Leonie’s competitive streak and cheerfulness, Lorenz’s eloquence and the burden he’d never let himself drop, Ignatz’s shy admiration and the waver in his voice even as he stood up for himself, the way Hilda noticed far more than she ever let on and cared more deeply than she’d admit, the way Raphael would do anything to make the ones he loved smile, the tension Lysithea always seemed to carry, snapping at any slight and pushing herself onwards ever further, those quiet moments where Marianne would brush Dorte’s mane, her lips jerking slowly into a smile, that faraway look in Claude’s eye when he thought no one was watching him, cheeky grin dropping and lips pressed tight together. It wasn’t perfect but it helped him hold on against the tide of time.

Over time the Saints drifted apart, Cethleann, Cichol and Seiros stayed close, but one day Indech left without a word to anyone, a few years later Macuil followed suit. Whilst each of the six of them had spent some time away they’d always come back, the two brothers never did. Cichol eventually went to track them down, he returned months later muttering angrily about his brothers hiding at the bottom of a lake and in the middle of a desert.

Every few decades Byleth would find himself dropping off to sleep for a few years, sometimes he would wake up in the company of the Saints, perhaps in a house owned by Cichol, or in a room in the monastery. At others he found himself waking in a field, half overgrown with plant life, or at the bank of a river, not quite sure how he got there. On one particularly memorable occasion he woke being gawked at by patrons at a travelling fair, he was dressed in ridiculously gaudy clothes and the owner begged him to go back to sleep since the ‘sleeping prince’ had been a major attraction of theirs for a decade. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to dislike the long naps, his dreams were hazy and indistinct after waking, but he was almost certain he could hear Sothis again whilst he slept. He thought it best to keep that to himself.

Time kept passing on. His skills rusted and were sharpened and rusted again as war turned to peace and war once more. He didn’t carry the Sword of the Creator with him onto the battlefield anymore. He left it in Zanado, wrapped neatly inside a box buried behind Sothis’ old house. It’d be there when the time was right.

He danced with Cethleann at the half millennium festival at Garreg Mach, half the continent seemingly showed up to partake in the feasting and merriment, and he found himself smiling like he hadn’t in decades. Cethleann just giggled at the liveliness of it all. She laughed harder when she saw his aghast reaction to the statue reveal of Seiros and her five Saints, Byleth swore he didn’t look half as annoyed as his statue did.

He saw as the Empire split and the Kingdom was born, house Blaiddyd at its helm. He saw as the alliance took root and the Fodlan he dimly remembered from so many centuries ago began to finally take shape. 

He met his Father and found himself crying. Jeralt was confused and bewildered at the introduction, but he warmed up a little over time to ‘Berto’ as Seiros had dubbed him. He knew he couldn’t stay too long in case Jeralt remembered him well, but he knew how easy it was to forget a face, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to actually teach his Father a thing or two about swordplay. And to speak to him once more.

Years later he met a young girl being raised by Seiros, there was something peculiar about her, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear ‘Rhea’ sharing stories of the Saints with her, the girl always seemed enraptured by them. He saw the way she stared at his father whenever he was at the monastery, her face blushing bright red if Jeralt ever noticed. He saw the way Jeralt eventually began to look at her in return. When he realised who she was he hurriedly packed and left the monastery.

He drifted into sleep again eventually and when he awoke it was only a few years until 1180. He made sure to stay well clear of the monastery then and drifted aimlessly around the continent until it was almost time to return. He retrieved the Sword of the Creator from its hiding place and waited just a little longer.

The night everything changed he watched from the cover of the forest, he saw a furious young man chase a terrified assassin through the woods. He saw them dragged into darkness, seemingly to never return. He wished himself luck in the War of Heroes and prepared himself. 

His heart nearly broke seeing his students and hearing their voices once more, how much they believed in him, that he’d find a way back to them no matter what. His lips curled into a gentle smile, and he stepped forth from the undergrowth.

“They’re right, Solon. I’m not so easy to be rid of, and I won’t abandon my students.” He declared calmly, readying the Sword of the Creator.

“What? Impossible!” Solon screeched.

“Hey Teach, long time no see.” Claude gave him a cocky smirk and Byleth laughed to himself.

“You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's it, thanks for all the support everyone, this story started as a random one-off drabble but thanks to your support I wrote this whole thing. I may come back in future to expand upon some of the events alluded to in this chapter but for now this is the end. I hope you all enjoyed reading 'A Step to the Right'.  
Update to notes: HOT DAMN 300 Kudos!?!? That’s nuts! Thanks so much to all you beautiful readers for your encouragement.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked let me know, I'm happy enough to leave this as kind of a one shot, but I might write some more in this sort of alternate continuity if people are interested. As always comments give me life.


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